XXXIV. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep : There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd The blisses of her dream so pure and deep. At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh ; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. XXXV. "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear. How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go." XXXVI. Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. XXXVII. 'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline! 'Tis dark the iced gusts still rave and beat: "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. – Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing; A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing." XXXVIII. My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest ? Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and quest, A famish'd pilgrim, saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel." XXXIX. "Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." XL. She hurried at his words, beset with fears, The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, XLI. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall! By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: XLII. And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and förm Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold. HYPERION. D1 BOOK I. EEP in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went, It seem'd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one, who with a kindred hand Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not She was a Goddess of the infant world; By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel. Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx, When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore. As if the vanward clouds of evil days Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue I have no comfort for thee, no not one: I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou? For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth |